


If my heart was a compass you'd be north

by smaragdbird



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: Even though they were mostly stuck on separate ships, there were moments they were happy.





	If my heart was a compass you'd be north

**Author's Note:**

> Written for For the Terror Gift exchange for full-of-terrors for the prompts "Peglar/Bridgens - Being happy"  
> and "Peglar/Bridgens - During the events of the Terror"

Harry almost, almost missed the winter camp on Beechey Island. He was a sailor at heart, having joined the Navy when he was thirteen, so of course he hated being stuck on land. But on Beechey with both crews mingling together he had been able to spent more time with John. Now he was back to counting the days until he could volunteer again to crew one of the boats that brought the officers over for dinner with Captain Franklin on Erebus.

They hadn’t meant to end up on two different ships but there had been a bit of last minute re-shuffling of both ships’ crews including re-rating some of the men and so John had ended up on the Erebus instead of Terror.

Being back on the sea meant a busier schedule than in the winter camp on Beechey and Harry was grateful for the work as it gave him less time to miss John. And for the few hours that he did have to spare he had the books John lent him.

Not for the first time Harry wished that he was more well-read so that he could recommend books to John in return. Instead he tucked pages poems he had written in the books he returned to John. No love poetry, nothing that could give them away but he always included a drawing of the tattoo that John had on his wrist.

“Mr. Peglar!” It was Mr. Brown who had manned the boat that had brought Captain Franklin and Commander Fitzjames to Terror.

“Mr. Brown”, Harry greeted him. As a steward John wouldn’t be called upon to crew one of the boats so he usually asked one of the sailors to take the books for Harry to Terror instead. And as Harry had expected Mr. Brown did take an oil-cloth bundle out from under his jacket.

“Mr. Bridgens asked me to give this to you”, Mr. Brown said as he handed it over.

Harry unwrapped the cloth and saw that it was a volume of Jonathan Swift’s Gullivers Travels. Like many other sailors Harry and John both loved travelogues, both fictional and not.

“Please give Mr. Bridgens my sincerest thanks”, Harry said and couldn’t help but smile.

“Will do”, Mr. Brown replied. “Thought you had a library here on Terror as well.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start”, Harry replied, a long-practiced lie that had once been the truth, years ago. “And Mr. Bridgens has a much better knowledge of books than I do.”

“That man can tell stories better than anyone”, Mr. Brown agreed and touched his hat. “Well, I hope you’ll enjoy this one as well.”

“Thank you”, Harry returned the gesture, “I believe I will.”

/

With the ships stuck in the ice for the winter it became easier to see John although given that each crew returned to their own ship at night, they had less privacy than on Beechey. Still sometimes they could find a quiet corner and talk or read together. Harry loved the sound of John’s voice, deep and calming like waves rolling across a sandy shore.

At least it had meant that Harry had been able to pass his notebook of poetry to John directly instead of tearing pages from it as he had done when they had been at sea. He knew that his writing wasn’t any good and his spelling was worse but he loved to watch John’s face when he read them out loud to him.

To anyone overhearing them it would sound as if Harry was just trying to put his love for the sea into words, nothing unusual amongst sailors. But to John and to Harry the words had different, a hidden meaning.

“Are you sending me back to Herodotus?” Harry teased when John came to see him just before the sledging parties were being sent out.

“Sadly there is no more Herodotus”, John replied. Harry had struggled with that book, even though he had enjoyed the story itself. “No, this is a comedy. I thought you could do with a bit of a laugh on your fifty miles.”

John’s thoughtfulness made him smile and a feeling like a flower opening up under the sun bloomed in his chest. He wished he could do more than just give his thanks but this was neither the time nor the place.

For a brief moment John rested his hand on Harry’s arm and then he was gone. Still smiling Harry carefully tucked the book into one of the pockets of his overcoat.

/

Having been a sailor for more than twenty years by now, Harry was used to death. He had served on naval blockades and in the tropics, he had seen war and disease claim life after life around him. But this was different. At first when the news about the bear attack on the other sledging party had made its way it had seemed like an unfortunate incident. 

Some of the men who had served on whaling ships in the Arctic before had served their share of stories about polar bears mauling men to death. Mr. Wilson had even claimed that he knew of a ship that had been sunk by a whale though only half of the men had believed him.

Harry did. He had been at sea for long enough to know that all kinds of things were possible when you left civilisation behind.

It was still summer, or what passed as summer this far north, but no leads had opened up so far and if that didn’t happen soon, they’d be stuck here for another winter. With the bear seemingly stalking them, waiting for its opportunity to strike again, anxiety and fear ran high. Harry wished he could talk with John but thanks to the Terror as the men called the bear they kept to their ships as if they were back on the open sea. They hadn’t seen each other for almost three months now. There were fewer and fewer parties going back and forth between the ships, so he and John had less opportunities to pass books back and forth as well.

Every time he stood watch Harry could feel the fear of the beast form inside him like a lump of ice. But he was also captain of the foretop and therefore meant to be an example to the other men. He couldn’t show his fear as openly as the ship’s boys did.

He tried to take some comfort in the knowledge that as a steward John would not be required to stand watch. Even if the beast started to attack them on their ships, John would be safe below or so Harry prayed.

When Captain Crozier asked for volunteers to berth on Erebus, Harry was one of the first in line.

/

Of course with the number of men berthing on Erebus it wasn’t as if they had privacy there either. But just to see John every day, to be able to speak to him whether briefly or at length, put Harry’s mind to ease.

As loud and crowded as it was Harry had less time for reading and was more easily distracted, especially since Voltaire wasn’t the easiest of authors. Though that at least gave him a pretext to seek out John’s company more often, asking for an explanation of one paragraph or another.

When they made back to England, Harry promised himself, he wouldn’t volunteer for another arctic mission. He’d rather face the mosquito filled swamps of east China again or the sweltering heat in Singapore than spent another winter in the ice.

But when John gave him Xenophon, their fingers resting atop of each other, he had a feeling that it would be a long while before he could think of England again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [ here](http://smaragdbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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